resentment. On Sunday, the notice of the Confirmation was read. It was to take place on the following Thursday, and all those who had already given in their names were to come to Mr. Ramsden to apply for their tickets. While this was read, large tear-drops were silently falling on poor Harry's book.
Ethel and Norman walked together in the twilight, in deep lamentation over their brother's deprivation, which seemed especially to humble them; 'for,' said Norman, 'I am sure no one can be more resolved on doing right than July, and he has got through school better than I did.'
'Yes,' said Ethel; 'if we don't get into his sort of scrape, it is only that we are older, not better. I am sure mine are worse, my letting Aubrey be nearly burned--my neglects.'
'Papa must be doing right,' said Norman, 'but for July to be turned back when we are taken, makes me think of man judging only by outward appearance.'
'A few outrageous-looking acts of giddiness that are so much grieved over, may not be half so bad as the hundreds of wandering thoughts that one forgets, because no one else can see them!' said Ethel.
Meanwhile, Harry and Mary were sitting twisted together into a sort of bundle, on the same footstool, by Margaret's sofa. Harry had begged of her to hear him say the Catechism once more, and Mary had joined with him in the repetition. There was to be only one more Sunday at home. 'And that!' he said, and sighed.
Margaret knew what he meant, for the Feast was to be spread for those newly admitted to share it. She only said a caressing word of affection.
'I wonder when I shall have another chance,' said Harry. 'If we should get to Australia, or New Zealand--but then, perhaps, there would be no Confirmation going on, and I might be worse by that time.'
'Oh, you must not let that be!'
'Why, you see, if I can't be good here, with all this going on, what shall I do among those fellows, away from all?'
'You will have one friend!'
'Mr. Ernescliffe! You are always thinking of him, Margaret; but perhaps he may not go, and if he should, a lieutenant cannot do much for a midshipman. No, I thought, when I was reading with my father, that somehow it might help me to do what it called putting away childish things--don't you know? I might be able to be stronger and steadier, somehow. And then, if--if--you know, if I did tumble overboard, or anything of that sort, there is that about the--what they will go to next Sunday, being necessary to salvation.'
Harry laid down his head and cried; Margaret could not speak for tears; and Mary was incoherently protesting against any notion of his falling overboard.
'It is generally necessary, Harry,' Margaret said at last--'not in impossible cases.'
'Yes if it had been impossible, but it was not; if I had not been a mad goose all this time, but when a bit of fun gets hold of me, I can't think. And if I am too bad for that, I am too bad for--for-- and I shall never see mamma again! Margaret, it almost makes me af-- afraid to sail.'
'Harry, don't, don't talk so!' sobbed Mary. 'Oh, do come to papa, and let us beg and pray. Take hold of my hand, and Margaret will beg too, and when he sees how sorry you are, I am sure he will forgive, and let you be confirmed.' She would have dragged him after her.
'No, Mary,' said Harry, resisting her. 'It is not that he does not forgive. You don't understand. It is what is right. And he cannot help it, or make it right for me, if I am such a horrid wretch that I can't keep grave thoughts in my head. I might do it again after that, just the same.'
'You have been grave enough of late,' said Mary.
'This was enough to make me so,' said Harry; 'but even at church, since I came home, I have behaved ill! I kicked Tom, to make him look at old Levitt asleep, and then I went on, because he did not like it. I know I am too idle.'
On the Tuesday, Dr. May had said he would take Norman and Etheldred to Mr. Ramsden. Ethel was gravely putting on her walking dress, when she heard her father's voice calling Harry, and she started with a joyful hope.
There, indeed, when she came downstairs, stood Harry, his cap in his hand, and his face serious, but with a look on it that had as much subdued joy as awe.
'Dear, dear Harry! you are going with us then?'
'Yes, papa wrote to ask what Mr. Wilmot thought, and he said--'
Harry broke off as his father advanced, and gave her the letter itself to read. Mr. Wilmot answered that he certainly should not refuse such a boy as Harry, on the proof of such entire penitence and deep feeling. Whether to bring him to the further privilege might be another question; but, as far as the Confirmation was concerned, the opinion was decided.
Norman and Ethel were too happy for words, as they went arm in arm along the street, leaving their dear sailor to be leaned on by his father.
Harry's sadness was gone, but he still was guarded and gentle during the few days that followed; he seemed to have learned thought, and in his gratitude for the privileges he had so nearly missed, to rate them more highly than he might otherwise have done. Indeed, the doubt for the Sunday gave him a sense of probation.
The Confirmation day came. Mr. Rivers had asked that his daughter might be with Miss May, and Ethel had therefore to be called for in the Abbotstoke carriage, quite contrary to her wishes, as she had set her heart on the walk to church with her father and brothers. Flora would not come, for fear of crowding Mr. Rivers, who, with Mrs. Larpent, accompanied his darling.
'Oh, Margaret,' said Flora, after putting her sister into the carriage, 'I wish we had put Ethel into a veil! There is Meta all white from head to foot, with such a veil! and Ethel, in her little white cap, looks as if she might be Lucy Taylor, only not so pretty.'
'Mamma thought the best rule was to take the dress that needs least attention from ourselves, and will be least noticed,' said Margaret.
'There is Fanny Anderson gone by in the fly with a white veil on!' cried Mary, dashing in.
'Then I am glad Ethel has not one,' said Flora. Margaret looked annoyed, but she had not found the means of checking Flora without giving offence; and she could only call Mary and Blanche to order, beg them to think of what the others were doing, and offer to read to them a little tale on Confirmation.
Flora sat and worked, and Margaret, stealing a glance at her, understood that, in her quiet way, she resented the implied reproof. 'Making the children think me worldly and frivolous!' she thought; 'as if Margaret did not know that I think and feel as much as any reasonable person!'
The party came home in due time, and after one kiss to Margaret, given in silence, dispersed, for they could not yet talk of what had passed.
Only Ethel, as she met Richard on the stairs, said, 'Ritchie, do you know what the bishop's text was? 'No man having put his hand to the plough, and looking back, is fit for the kingdom of God.''
'Yes?' said Richard interrogatively.
'I thought it might be a voice to me,' said Ethel; 'besides what it says to all, about our Christian course. It seems to tell me not to be out of heart about all those vexations at Cocksmoor. Is it not a sort of putting our hand to the plough?'
Dr. May gave his own history of the Confirmation to Margaret. 'It was a beautiful thing to watch,' he said, 'the faces of our own set. Those four were really like a poem. There was little Meta in her snowy whiteness, looking like innocence itself, hardly knowing of evil, or pain, or struggle, as that soft earnest voice made her vow to be ready for it all, almost as unscathed and unconscious of trial, as when they made it for her at her baptism; pretty little thing--may she long be as happy. And for our own Ethel, she looked as if she was promising on and on, straight into eternity. I heard her 'I do,' dear child, and it was in such a tone as if she meant to be ever doing.'
'And for the boys?'
'There was Norman grave and steadfast, as if he knew what he was about, and was manfully and calmly ready--he might have been a young knight, watching his armour.'
'And so he is,' said Margaret softly. 'And poor Harry?'
The doctor could hardly command voice to tell her. 'Poor Harry, he was last of all, he turned his back and looked into the corner of the seat, till all the voices had spoken, and then turned about in haste, and the two words came on the end of a sob.'
'You will not keep him away on Sunday?' said Margaret.
'Far be it from me. I know not who should come, if he should not.'
